c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(2-24)
Nate Bucyrus paced around his living room at Evergreen Estates with nervous energy. The afternoon was surprisingly sunny, for being such a cold day in February. He had been alone since the morning, when his wife of a dozen years left to visit her sister in Lycoming, Pennsylvania. The trip had been an impulsive dash away from home, after a protracted squabble. Their bickering had intensified as the new year arrived. Though in truth, neither of them felt that the bond of their marriage was still strong in any sense. They had drifted apart as his career at the U.S. Post Office went into a tailspin. He couldn’t see well after having cataract surgeries. Packages and letters were shipped to incorrect destinations. Each reprimand for these careless mistakes only made him more bitter for working long hours at a small location in the hinterland of Ohio. He drank heavily during off-duty hours. Bankruptcy drew nearer with each month that passed.
And the balding, stocky, lug of a man kept noticing a peg on top of the door to a double closet in the hallway. It had been installed originally to secure the slab of carved wood on one side. The other opened to reveal stacked shelves that his spouse used to store cleaning products, and extra towels. His mind lingered on the sturdy, metal post with each trip to their front bathroom. It appeared to have been machined from brass. When not in use, this short post jutted upward as if it were flashing a sign of defiant angst. Something that matched his own angry gloominess. He would stand at the spot where a thermostat for their trailer furnace was located, and ponder about that hardened bit of alloy.
The polished buckle of his favorite belt could slip into place atop that accessory, with ease. Then, the chrome strap patterned after a 1970’s disco ball might find a new use to bind his neck. His only daughter had called it a ‘steel belt’ during her childhood years. She thought that prom photos of her parents, dancing to hits by K.C. and the Sunshine band, or the Bee Gees, were hilarious. When they divorced, she predictably took her mother’s side in the legal dispute. Now, he rarely saw his biological offspring.
Thanks to the clockwork grind of fate in action, his second partner was now also likely to become MIA from the drab and dreary existence of living in a prefab community.
He stood at a chest of drawers in the bedroom, and tugged out the Malaise-era relic. It glistened coldly in his fingers. When he pulled it tight in both hands, there was a frightening crack of leather and steel. He had to hold his breath for a moment.
“Damn damn damn! I think this might work. Forgive me, Holy Father. I think this might really work after all!”
After two or three weeks had passed, it became evident that his second bride did not intend to return from her self-imposed exile. The postal boss in charge of his district offered a permanent layoff, once his distant depot had closed. With retirement money to follow. Yet his finances had already been skewered by months and years of unpaid bills. He had also fallen behind on lot rent at the village of mobile homes.
On Friday evening he got very drunk. By midnight, the liquor cabinet had been completely emptied. Then, he started to hum the tune of ‘Get Down Tonight’ by his one-time musical champions from Hialeah, Florida.
“Baby, baby, let’s get together
Honey, honey, me and you
And do the things, ah, do the things
That we like to do
Oh, do a little dance, make a little love
Get down tonight
Get down tonight...”
He took the steel belt from its hiding spot under layers of boxer shorts. The clothing restraint tingled his skin as if charged with electricity. He curled it into a loop, and then carried it to the narrow passage that ran down one side of their boxcar hovel. With nimble fingers, he opened the left-side, closet door. Then stood perfectly still.
The brass peg was spring-loaded and ready. He felt an odd surge of confidence while maneuvering himself into place, on a wooden chair from the dinner table. The shiny strap pulled taut around his throat. When he stepped forward, off of the seat, his toes straightened in the empty air. A gasp of certainty made him choke. He gargled and gurgled curses while flailing.
“Do it motherf*****! Do it! Show some balls! Finish the damn job! Don’t be a candyass!”
Numbness overtook him with incredible rapidity. He lost consciousness for a moment, while jerking from side to side. But a natural revulsion toward being suffocated caused him to turn weak. He wheezed and coughed before hanging limply against the wall. His knees knocked like timpani mallets. Vomit stuck in his blocked airway.
“Die! Die! Die! Get it over with! Don’t let me twist on this belt, forever!”
A peal of thunder shook the manufactured dwelling, as Nate was making his plea to be released from mortality. A flash of intense, blue-and-white lit up the full-length mirror stationed across from the closet where he was suspended. Finally, a face appeared in the reflective glass. It was dark and oval, under a hood drawn down at the chin.
A scythe protruded over this foreboding creature as it spoke in a breathy hiss.
“Mr. Bucyrus! You’ve jumped the gun today. This was not your time. Every human journey ends at a point known by the creator. This escape is given freely, with no malice. Yet it must be taken respectfully. Do you understand? I have no patience for someone who is ignorant of his own importance. Don’t you realize there is a purpose in being here? God does not tolerate rebellion inside his kingdom of glory!”
The pudgy, middle-aged fellow found himself standing barefoot on the carpet. His painful attempt at suicide had suddenly been interrupted. Before he could answer, the cryptic guest pointed a finger from the mirror’s edge. The disco belt was incinerated immediately. It burned to ash, on the floor. This spectacle made the drunken rube tremble with fear of retribution.
“I’m dead already, is that it? This is my punishment, right? It must be! Hell is my home now! But that’s better than living here, in a hell-on-earth! I’m sick of being worthless! Sick of it!”
The specter frowned and grimaced with disgust. This made his nebulous countenance more defined in the shadows.
“I am Death, no more than a courier for the Great Spirit. Lucifer rules below, God rules above. I am in between. I do not reward, or punish. I simply gather those who pass, and transport them to their final judgment. It is in a sense, a thankless occupation. But one that is necessary. Still, I take no comfort in performing this task. I do not relish the barbaric bite of my weapon when it claims new blood. I do not cheer over victories won. And I will not assist you in rudely moving ahead on this queue. It is not your time, can’t you see? That old woman who lives across the street, consider her if you will! She is weary, having outlived all of her brothers and sisters, and her husband. But you stop by each day for conversation. Even the silliest of comments warms her heart! And that lonely, young kid on the other side of this park, who visits to tell you about his work routine at Walmart. His father is an alcoholic, wracked with diabetes. He has no one to trust. His mother is gone. You are his hero. Does that matter now? Your neighbor to the east is struggling, he is also separated from his wife. Just last week, he was prepared to use an antique straight razor in a violent act, against himself. You happened to pause while delivering a package that was too large for his slot at the mail shed, by your maintenance garage. Just that word of friendship made the difference. He glowed like an oil lamp after you departed. Didn’t you notice the change? Your heart is broken at the moment. I comprehend that suffering more than you might imagine. I have seen centuries of grief, first-hand. But listen to me, and take heed. This is not the day or the hour. When the sun rises tomorrow, your beloved will return. She is in agony without you at her side. Even if you have pissed her off repeatedly with your inebriated rants!”
Nate flushed with embarrassment. He had tears streaming over his ruddy cheeks.
“I didn’t know, believe me! I didn’t know!”
The trailer shook with what felt like a localized earthquake. From the long mirror, the keeper of final rest bowed his head and swore an oath.
“You will see me again, at the appointed time. Be aware of what awaits! But until then, fulfill the promise of your birth. Do not separate yourself from the love of your creator. Or from those around you, who care. Live and breathe and celebrate each day! I say this in the name of goodness and light! Amen!”
The humbled boozer massaged his neck, which was chapped and raw from the temporary hanging. He was still nauseous, and weak. Yet renewed vigor pulsed in his chest.
“Amen indeed! Amen! Amen!”
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